


According to Clint (or Phil's Perfect Partner)

by Agent C (arh581958)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Clint Barton is NOT the emotionally stunted one, Clint soothes the heartbreak, Fluff, M/M, Phil has a heartbreak, Pre-Slash, Smart!Clint, Sweet, UST, mature!clint, mentions of Phil/OMC but they broke up, secret pining, you'll get cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arh581958/pseuds/Agent%20C
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil's just broken up with someone. Clint goes on to tell him what he <i>should</i> be looking for in a partner.</p><p>(Or: how Clint accidentally ends up describing himself)</p>
            </blockquote>





	According to Clint (or Phil's Perfect Partner)

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt I originally found on tumbler:
> 
> I just had to do a CC-fic because I haven't written one in so long. Urgh.
> 
> **Clint x Coulson CANON Comic Suggestions please**

Phil resolutely ignored the loud banging on his door for all of five minutes before he stomped down the entryway and flung open the wooden partition as if it had personally offended him.

"What?" he growled at the intruder. He did NOT want to see anyone right now. Not Marcus. Not Hill. Not Jasper. Not even- "Clint, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I just got back to base but you weren't there. Didn't you always tell me to report straight to you?' the archer replied with a too-cheery grin. "I come bearing gifts," he added, bringing the six pack up to eye-level.

"That's for when I'm actually on duty, agent," Phil rebutted flatly. He crossed his arms over his shoulders and body-blocked the other man from entering his apartment. "And it's medical first, not me."

"I already came from medical," the other man argued back. With  fingers wrapped in bandages, he lifted his dirty blond hair off his forehead to show the butterfly bandage that the medical team put on him during the flight back. "Got the all clear and, tadah~, here I am."

Phil narrowed his eyes. "You never come to me first."

"Aww, come on, sir, it's freezing out here!" Barton borderline whined like a petulant child. "I came here and everything. And I even bought you beer!"

"How do you even know where I live?" The senior agent rubbed one of his temples with his hand.

It earned him another cheeky grin. "Easy," the specialist responded. "I'm Hawkeye."

The older man rolled his eyes. "Then why do you keep acting like a dumb shtick with other handlers?"

"Easy again," came the triumphant reply. "They aren't you, sir. You I like---" he hummed, "--them, not so much."

"Fine," he sighed, making space, and gestured toward the inside of his apartment. "But I am shipping your ass back to base after your report."

"Awesome!" Barton, who was secretly twelve, fist-bumped into the air and flinched.  "Fr--uuuck. Aww, ribs, no." He winced and clutched his side.

Phil's old training as an army ranger kicked in and he caught Barton by the armpits before the man could fall flat on his crooked face and make a scene---in the middle of Phil's private apartment building. There was no way that he would leave an asset as valuable as the World's Greatest Marksman out in the hallway.

"God, you're heavy," he complained as he hauled the younger man inside his apartment.

"All muscle, sir," mumbled the archer unsteadily while he fought and failed to hide a cringe.

"I thought you said you already saw medical?" his handler pointed out, dumping him onto the soft beaten-up sofa in the living room. "You didn't go to medical, did you?"

Barton bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm pretty sure Fernandez was from the medical staff. She had the white hat with the red-cross and everything. She patched me up on the way over."

"Barton..." The other man's tone was warning. "First aid from emergency field personnel is not the same as seeing the SHIELD doctors," he said, poking at the blond man's sides, walking his fingers over the ribs.

"Oww!"

"Hmmm..." he hummed, pressing against the third rib again. "You jumped from the fire escape again, didn't you?" It was an observation rather than a question. A frown marred his face and wrinkle lines formed on his forehead. "This is why I require you to go to medical in the first place." His eyes darkened. "You're lucky you don't have any cracked ribs. Bruised though. Serves you right for your hero antics and showboating."

"Hey!" Barton objected, still grinning. "I saved a little girl from a collapsing building!"

"What, do you want a reward?" Phil deadpanned.

"Mm-hmm."

He glanced up and saw the trippy expression on the other man's face. "You're on the good drugs, aren't you?" he pointed out with another eye roll. He gripped the hem of his asset's shirt and began tugging it up. "Off with your shirt. I'll wrap up your ribs, no complaining."

"Aww, sir," the field specialist cooed. "You do love me."

Phil scoffed. Love---he didn't do love. At least not, anymore. Not after---he shook his head and grabbed the first aid supplied from the kitchen. Every government trained personnel had an emergency kit in every room of their house. Some habits were hard to break.

"What happened... here?" the archer question while his handler was busy inspecting the handiwork. His eyes are less glazed and the haze seemed to have receded. He was acutely aware of how close they were, of Coulson's scent, of the heat of the older man's fingers on his skin. "Was there a tornado in here? I don't think they made tornados that small---hey, oww!"

"Fuck," the older man cursed when his hand slipped. He pulled away his hands like any form of contract would cause the archer to spontaneously combust. "Barton, fuck, I'm sorry." He apologized, the tone of his voice giving him away. His hands visibly shook in front of his eyes. "Fuck."

"Sir?" Barton glanced over his shoulder and saw his pale-faced handler. "Are you... what's the matter? Are you alright? Coulson, what happened?"

"It's nothing." The senior agent shook his head. "It's... a personal thing."

They got caught in an awkward silence.

"Fuck. Aww, shit, no... she didn't... did she? ... she wouldn't!" Barton blabbered, hesitantly at first then he became firmer. One does not become a top-paid mercenary and survive without leaning a few tricks. His hidden talent was reading people. "That...bitch," he spat out with venom. "How could she break up with you? What did she say?"

Phil looked heartbroken. He collapsed on the ottoman across from the younger man. Elbows resting on his parted knees, he wrung his head between his shoulders and let the tension in the air fade away. He hadn't intended on laying all the emotional crap on Barton but the man did ask him.

"She said ... I emotionally cannot commit."

"Emotionally what now?"

"Emotionally can't commit," He clarified. "Let's face it, Barton. She's right. This job, SHIELD, it's been my life since I left the Rangers. I practically live in my office and I'm always on duty. She's right. I don't have the time nor the effort to make a real relationship survive. It’s just..."

"... because when you leave, people die." Barton finished the thought without even trying. "That's the risk of dating a civvy, sir. You can never tell her what you really do. Therefore, she would never understand why it's important that you live the way you live, that you are the way you are. Carrying that weight on your shoulders is a heavy burden."

His handler made a noncommittal sound.

"She wasn't right for you anyway, sir."

Phil huffed. "Tss. What do you think would be right for me, hmmm, agent?"

"I'm not really sure, sir," Barton replied, light and casual. "You know me and women don't really get along very well."

"Not just women, then, Barton." Phil pressed. "What kind of person would be right for someone like me?"

Barton seemed to think, really think, about it for a while. He had his thinking face and everything like when he was about to suggest a better perch after studying the mission file.

"Physical characteristics aside, sir?" he clarified with a thoughtful hum.

"Affirmative, agent, what's your analysis?"

"Well, first of all, the person needs to appreciate who you are. It doesn't matter where they come from, what their background is, or their line of work. What's important is that they can see the value of what you do and why you do it. So maybe, someone from SHIELD? I know it's not ideal but at least that solves the issue of your need to know excuses."

"Okay." That... actually sound like a pretty good idea. SHIELD was one of the more progressive agencies who didn't have fraternization policies as long as both were willing and consenting adults. Superiors fell in love with their subordinates all the time because of close quarters, proximity, and the number of times they usually faced death together. "Proceed."

"Next would be... uhm, someone who is not a control freak? I mean… You've basically monopolized that market already and two forces of the same kind are bound to not work you, ya know? I think it'll be a good balance for someone who won't hound you for the changes in your schedules, the emergency disruptions, or the fact that you take in your assets in the middle of the night when they come a-knocking." Barton chuckled. "... especially since said asset had the courtesy to bring you beer."

"Said asset, or any of my other assets, were not supposed to be informed of my private apartment, Barton," Phil responded with a glare that was more friendly than threatening. "Not a control freak 'cause I'm already am. Do you know how many times I saved your ass because I am a control freak? The details that I had to comb through whenever I.. you know what, never mind."

"No, sir. It's a good thing." the other argued. "I said your partner can't be another you. Your perfectionism is legendary in SHIELD, ya know."

"Urgh. Moving on."

"Fine," he grumbled. "Someone who gives you space then... to be the awesome Phillip J. Coulson that you're meant to be."

"How is that count as another trait? Or should I lump it along with the last one?" the senior agent probed as he raised one of his eyebrows. "I'm pretty sure the last two constitute to the same thing."

"Well... there's a difference between not being bothered that something happened and understanding that something happened, ya know? Like the say that you bug me about medical because I got a bit banged up. You're bothered by it but you understand why I don't like going to medical and you bandage me up yourself."

"Mm-hmm." There is was again, non-committal. "You're not saying just 'cause you want another excuse to avoid going to medical, aren't you?"

The archer shook his head. "I'll give you the next one for free."

"So I'm paying you now?"

"Whatever, sir. Do you want me to continue or not?"

Phil nodded his head.

"Okay, listen. The person you need to be with... they have to be confident. I'm not talking about Captain America confident or nothin' but not insecure or easily jealous. You may be a handler but that doesn't mean you aren't an active field agent and you get sent off on the ground for Ops too. Sometimes, in this line of work, you gotta go undercover and do all that James Bond shit. They have to know and trust you enough that what you guys have is special."

If it were any other handler in SHIELD would have heard all this spewing from Barton's mouth, they would have either been convinced he was a delusional or been switched with a Skrull. But this was Phil and he's worked on more Ops with Hawkeye than any other person in the whole organization. He knew that the dumb-kid-from-Iowa trick was all a farce. Deep down, the blond was actually a pretty smart guy.

The other man continued. "If they trust you, then they'll also stand by you. They won't leave. They'll show you every bit of goddamn loyalty that you deserve...sir." the title was added with a strange sort of tone but the older man tried not to look into it. "They've got to trust you in the field and in the relationship that neither of you will fuck it up."

"Are we talking about Ops or relationship goals here, Barton?" the senior agent queried. "It's starting to sound like you're blurring the lines."

"Who says it can't be both, Coulson?" Barton countered with downcast eyes, avoiding Phil's like he's hiding something. "A relationship's a relationship. You don't have to jump into a sunset cruise or anything. Sometimes people start out as friends."

The older man raises his brow. "Is this your way of telling me I should date Maria? Or, heaven forbid... Jasper?"

Barton threw his head back and laughed, barely wincing at the jolt in his ribs. "Aww, fuck, no. I'm just saying... it could be anyone. When you have things in common, it's important to have things in common, like how we like really bad sci-fi, comic book heroes but diss the movie adaptations, and horrible reality TV shows that tend to make you lose brain cells."

"Oh. So not just work related things, right?"

"Right."

"Jesus, Barton." the older of the pair groused. "You're setting me up with an imaginary make-believe person who I will never be able to meet." But despite the harsh words, the corners of his mouth had lifted up, even just a little.

"Ya know me, sir, always the silver-lining kind of guy."

"Tell me more," he urged.

They've been talking for the better part of the hour with Phil barely noticing that the painful feeling inside his chest was long gone. The first aid kit lay forgotten on the coffee table between them. This could have been the longest that they have spent together---outside an Op and outside his office. He admitted, in his head, that it felt---nice.

Barton was funny and witty and mouthed off like a teenager but he was also a good friend. He was loyal to a fault, even risking his own life several times through his career in order to protect his friends. Phil had been that unfortunate person one too many times in the past. It made him wonder why the archer's previous relationships had crashed and burned in balls of fire.

"They make you better," Barton said after a moment's hesitation. "Clichéd, I know, but it's like what they say about your better half? The person who complements your flaws and makes you a better person? It doesn't have to be literal. Just making you feel like you want to be better should be good too."

After the disaster in Beirut, he vowed never to have a repeat performance of holding Barton's insides inside the man's body. He was not satisfied until he got a waiver signed in blood that Barton would fucking open his eyes the next morning... his asset did, eventually, two days later and held onto the bloodied fingerprints on Phil's jacket.

"And he should know how to keep his promises to you, sir. Promises are important." Barton said it in an almost inaudible voice.

\---and fuck, if Phil did not look at Barton then. There was something veiled inside the younger man's kaleidoscope eyes, an emotion that the senior agents could not place. It made his throat dry up. Something clenched in his gut.

"Anything else that you'd like to report, specialist?"

"Honesty, sir," came the short reply with no implication that it would elaborated.

Phil's hand trembled. It was a different kind of trembling from early on. This one was because of anticipation. He licked his lips, suddenly feel like they were the driest place on the planet, and dared to stare intently into Barton's eyes. For all intents and purposes, this should be wrong but something occurred to Phil. If he were less distracted by his broken heart, he might have noticed it sooner.

"Is that all you want to tell me...Clint?"

Clint's eyes went wide for half a second, then he was furiously shaking his head.

"What is it then?"

"It's the most important thing, sir---Phil."

How long have they been working together? Appreciative, affectionate, loyal, and honest when it matters---all those things were not a fantasy man. Phil was 98% confident that Barton was talking about a single specific man now. All the things that his asset has been saying, they were all meant to describe just that one man---

"They should trust you, Phil."

The words that came next were unfiltered. It was like his brain was too busy trying all the bits and pieces together. He said them before he even realized that he was even thinking about saying them. They hung over both men's heads like a thick fog that descended from the mountains.

"Do you trust me, Clint?"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [ Inspire me! Click Here!](http://arh581958.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> Send me prompts~ I so desperately want to go back to writing Phlint like my life depended on it. *cries*


End file.
